The Founders Four
by Gwen6
Summary: Arthur's kingdom has fallen, old Houses have been banished. Dark wizards rule over the British Isles. Into this time of darkness, the Four Founders stride. From ashes and broken dreams they hope to forge a new world. But there is a long way to go...
1. Prologue

Morwena Ravenclaw watched her servants die. They were not warriors, but they gave their lives all the same, to protect their Lady. Below the walls, the raiders of Lord Glenmich were launching spell after spell. With each new blast of dark magic, more and more of her servants fell to their deaths. With every death, Morwena felt her heart grow heavier. Since the death of Arthur, forty years ago, the tide had turned.

Once, the Isles of Britain had been ordered. Under Arthur's guidance, and Merlin's wisdom, the noble wizarding families had driven dark wizards from the shores. It had been hard, but creatures of nightmare, wizards seeking power above all else, had finally been banished. Until Mordred and his challenge. With the death of Arthur, all hope had fragmented. The allied wizarding families bickered over the throne. When they should have united to drive back the wild forces of evil, they fought themselves.

Arthur may have killed Mordred before he died, but there were hundreds of dark wizards now, all of them carving their own kingdoms of brutality from the wreckage of the old order. Her husband, Ulric Ravenclaw, Arthur's seneschal had led the struggle for a long time, until he defeat three days ago at the hands of Lord Glenmich.

And now, Glenmich was here to claim his prize. Ravenclaw's lands, its possessions, and its Lady. She was under no illusions that Glenmich would let her live in the freedom Ulric had allowed her. No, he would take her, enslave her, and have her as his toy. "Look who I have conquered, the proud witch Ravenclaw," he would declare to his follows as he supped in her hall.

There was a sudden blast of fire, and the magical gates to the keep finally shattered against the might of Glenmich's magic. Shaking her head, Morwena turned to look at her young, eight-year old daughter. She was the last of her children who remained alive. All the others had fought alongside Ulric during the wars since Arthur's death. All the others had died, nobly, for the vision Arthur and Ulric had stood for.

Beside Rowena stood the oldest servant of Ravenclaw, Eddard. Dismissed by many as doddering, Morwena knew he was the brightest, most gifted wizard they had. He had been tutor to all her children, and would now tutor her daughter in exile. She gave her daughter one last embrace, and then straightened, turning to Eddard. "Two hippogriffs are tethered at the beach. In the saddlebags, you will bear all the secret lore of Ravenclaw, our most ancient artifacts and treasures."

The old man swallowed heavily, his eyes glistening, "If I leave without you, Morwena, I leave the greatest of Ravenclaw's treasures to the mercy of Glenmich."

She shook her head, "No, my good friend, no. I am no milkmaid, to go meekly to his arms. I am the wife of Ulric, and I will show to this upstart darkling that I am worthy of the Ravenclaw name." Her voice softened, "I will not see you again, dear Eddard. Please, look after my daughter. And keep her safe. This country is no longer what it was, but perhaps in years to come... perhaps there might come hope."

Giving Rowena one last kiss on the forehead, she nodded. "Run, now, both of you." A crash below the tower announced approaching doom. "Now! I will hold them up. As long as you reach the hippogriffs in time, they cannot hope to catch you."

And so she did not lose her nerve, so she did not flee with them both after the sacrifices her people had made for her, Morwena turned away from her oldest friend and daughter. Drawing her wand from her robes, she waited, facing the door. "Ulric, I will join you soon."

Moments passed, during which the sounds of battle ended outside. Either her people had surrendered, or they were dead. There was one scream outside her door, as her last defender fell. And then the door exploded into fragments of searing wood. She made a simple wand-swish, and a blast of white fire forced its way through the doorway. Three robed wizards fell to the floor, screaming in agony, before lying still.

"Hold!" a voice boomed, "The witch is mine."

And through the door, strode Glenmich. A handsome man, a tall man, with robes of the brightest white, he did not look like a dark wizard. He wore a cloak of golden sheepskin, and it was clasped about his shoulders with a runed brooch. Morwena sneered, "You still have the temerity to wear Arthur's insignia, Eldon?"

The man nodded once, "I do. Once a knight of Camelot, always a knight of Camelot. You do not understand my purpose, Morwena. I will unify this great nation, and teach our children the ways of magic, such magics as are beyond you and your weak allies. Just look around you. Everywhere across these isles, the old houses are falling. New order is coming. You can join us, Morwena. Join me, as my wife, and rule these isles as your could have done under Ulric."

Morwena shook her head, "Ulric never sought the throne, and I will never do so. I deny you, Eldon. I deny your darkness, your evil. Throughout these isles, your followers and your rivals are dealing death, torture and terror to anyone weaker than them. You dishonour the ways of Camelot. I will never stand by your side."

The wizard smirked, "Oh, but you will." He drew back his wand, and whispered, "Imp-"

Without a sound, Morwena gestured with her wand. A sound like a bell filled the room and golden light shone around the dark wizard. With a snarl, Glenmich stepped backwards, and with a swish of his wand the light transformed to green fire, which erupted hungrily towards her. This smoothly transformed into motes of purple light, which shot towards Glenmich, only to transform to harsh, biting insects – to golden daggers – to a writhing mass of snakes – to a moving puddle of molten silver – to a dark shadow – to a shroud of mist. Back and forth they clashed, Morwena's skills being tested to the limit.

They broke off for a moment, Glenmich staring at her in amazement, "Ulric allowed his wife greater power than him?"

Morwena smiled softly, "Ulric allowed me anything. Under Arthur's rule, man and woman are equal. It is only your rule that denies that."

Glenmich did not respond, instead sending a blast of purple lightning towards Morwena. Again, they exchanged spell after spell. Glenmich's followers watched as powerful magic smashed the tower roof open, even destroyed the walls leaving them open to the elements. Yet Morwena knew she could not keep this up for long and, sure enough, she moved to block one spell a fraction of a second too late. A powerful force knocked her to the ground, and Morwena glared upwards at Glenmich, who held a wand directly at her throat. "Now, beautiful, you will learn your place." His eyes moved to her hand still clutching her wand. "You will have no need for that any more. I will protect you, and you will love me."

A wave of revulsion hit her, at his words. She could fight his will for a long time. But eventually, she would break, and she would be nothing but a toy. A pretty doll to wait for his pleasure and to speak only the words he told her to speak. Everything about her mind would vanish under his brutal grip. There was only one choice possible.

"Lord Eldon Glenmich... I give you a last gift."

He frowned, "A gift? What gift?"

In response, she uttered a single word. Bright white light claimed her. Pain of her magical fire lanced through her once, and then she knew peace.

There was nothing left of the Ravenclaw hold, save rubble and debris, still smouldering. It would smoulder for years, Morwena's last incantation holding enough power to keep the fire going for years. From the rubble, a charred, blackened body stood. His clothes were destroyed, his body little more than moving ash. Yet he was powered by darkness greater than Morwena could destroy. Eyes of a fiery red glared about him, as he watched those of his followers who had survived come to kneel before him.

Those red eyes narrowed as he saw, perhaps a mile away, two hippogriffs soaring into the moonlit sky. "Clever Morwena," he rasped, his blackened hands clenching around his wand. "But I will find your brat. And she will take her place at my side... the place you denied, she will have. That I promise you."

* * *

The well-appointed manor house nestled safely in a Welsh valley. In a candlelit, small room made warm by the flickering remnants of a fire, a plump, beautiful witch gazed into a blue-glowing mirror. Tears fell down her face as she saw her friend sacrifice herself, all to buy her daughter time to escape. Hronwen Hufflepuff allowed herself a few moments to cry, to mourn her fallen friend, before she stood. Approaching the fading hearth, she pulled some powder from a silver bowl.

She glanced around the small room and sighed. In the rooms above her six children slept, unaware that this night, darkness moved. They were unaware that the Hufflepuffs' greatest ally had been destroyed. And Hronwen suspected other allies were in danger this very night. It was her task to warn them, to set into place the essential exile of many wizarding families. They would lead the fight against the dark lords like Glenmich from outside Britain. Not for her family, the exile, though. Hufflepuffs remained true, always dedicated to the end. Her family could not leave, not when they had lands to protect and people who served them.

Hronwen sighed, and then stepped into the fireplace. She uttered a single word, before vanishing in a flurry of magic.

All across the isles that night, Hronwen passed the word. For many, she was too late, arriving in a wrecked home, or to a scene of slaughter. But for others, she was on time. It is said that the loyalty of the Hufflepuff allowed hundreds to escape the dark wizards' concerted effort. The dark wizards were not overly concerned. Those that stayed were slain. Those that fled were no longer a threat to their rule. On that night, a night of screams and torture, the last remnants of Arthur's kingdom were crushed.


	2. 1: A Return

**1: A Return**

The young wizard stepped onto the rocky beach, buffeted by hard coastal winds. The air was salt-fresh and icy, the air that said winter still held its grip on the isles. Drawing his black-fur cloak closely about himself, Salazar turned to see the sea-serpent slip beneath the waves, having done his bidding in bringing him finally to his old home. He bowed his head in deep respect to the departing serpent, before breathing in deeply.

His family had told him not to return. Until the dark wizards were overthrown, there was no place for their ancient house on these shores. But he had waited fifteen years away from his home, away from those his house had once guarded. With every month that passed, with every new word of bloodshed and atrocities, he could not stay away. Waiting on the beach, remaining completely still, his emerald robes and black cloak billowing about him, he looked like an elegant shadow. The darkness of the green and black was broken only by the stark paleness of his face, and a glittering silver serpent clasp.

_Sss, thisss is no placsse for me, Ssalazsar,_ the soft serpentine whisper came from his companion, wrapped about his wrist. He lifted up his long sleeves to smile softly at the lurid green serpent. "It is more pleasant during summer, Sonja. I promise. Besides, we both know it is right. You told me that."

_Perhapss, but I sstil can complain. Now, where are the friendss of yourss we meet?_

"They will be here soon..."

No sooner had he spoken, than, beyond the hill that rose above the beach, came the crashing sounds of a battle. Salazar narrowed his eyes, "Or perhaps they are already here, and with company. Hide yourself, Sonja! We move to battle!"

He drew his perfect, long black wand from his sleeve and with a crack, Disapparated. He appeared on the hill, and looked down upon a slaughter. There were over thirty corpses on the ground. Nine white-robed wizards wearing the pretty rune of Camelot stood in a wide circle, wands pointed at two black-cloaked wizards who were standing back-to-back, moments away from surrendering.

"Sonorous," whispered Salazar, before booming, "Knights of Camelot! Stand, and prepare to duel!"

The minimum of niceties observed, Salazar slashed with his wand. A whipping line of blue, crackling lightning struck two of the wizards. They screamed, and collapsed twitching to the ground. As if rejuvenated, the two black-cloaked wizards sent their own spells into the fray. Four spells lanced towards Salazar, who shattered them with a contemptuous flick of his wand. Whoever the attacking knights were, were barely worthy of the title. Such paltry spells were the work of children.

A circular motion with his wand, and he set a ward on them to prevent their escape. Another slash, and this time a beam of green light moved to surround all seven remaining white-robed wizards. Instantly, they froze, held in place by his magic. Salazar smirked. If this was the best wand work the dark wizards had to offer, his family truly had nothing to fear. With a smooth, unruffled motion he descended the slope to stand beside the two wizards he had saved. Both were panting, heavily.

"I am Artus Black," said one, a handsome, elegant-featured wizard.

"And I am Appius Malfoy," added the other, whose smooth face and platinum-blond hair made an appealing contrast to his dark robes.

"Well met, my lords. You are the ones I was to meet on my arrival?"

Malfoy nodded, "Indeed. Although there were ten others, ten lords of the hidden houses." He looked around, his eyes filled with a deep horror. "Somehow, they knew we were here." He approached the seven wizards who were locked into captivity by Salazar's spell.

Salazar frowned, "Then we are in danger, and must move quickly."

With a sigh, Artus spoke, "I will carry news of the deaths to the others, Malfoy. Take Lord Slytherin to one of our hide-outs. Such a loss to our cause will get many speak of defecting. We cannot permit that, or we are lost."

A light, soft chuckle came from Malfoy, as he drawled, "Speak passionately to them my friend. But in truth, I think you over-react. Those who would defect have long since done so." He sighed again, shaking his head at the corpses, "those who fought with us this day are great heroes, and worthy of our greatest respect. As are all of us who linger on these shores for the fight."

"Indeed." Artus nodded to Malfoy, "Ensure the prisoners are dealt with correctly." And with a nod to Slytherin, he vanished with a loud crack.

"What does he mean, deal with the prisoners correctly?"

The blond wizard raised his wand, "We duel to the death here, Salazar." And without any qualms he moved his wand casually. Fire burst from the ground, and within moments there were seven charred corpses hissing on the blackened grass.

Salazar wrinkled his nose, "Is this how we deal with prisoners now? Treat them with such contempt? If we treat them like this we cannot expect them ever to make peace with us."

Malfoy turned to him with a growl, "Listen, Salazar. You have known it easy for these past years. You have lived a pleasant youth learning pleasant magic, far from here. Some of us have known nothing but hardship and pain, the loss of our loved ones and the fear of the Dark Arts. We do not give mercy, because mercy is not given to us."

He felt ashamed. "I am sorry. In truth, I heard it was bad, but... but not this bad."

The other wizard sighed and made a vague shrug, "I am sorry for snapping. I should perhaps have given you more warning about what I was going to do. But yes, things are that bad here. Children have been taken from wizarding families and held as hostages. Every day, people are subject to rape, murder and torture. They suffer by ensorcellment, sacrifice and starvation. There is no law, no order, and to make it worse every dark lord on these isles has given his followers the sign of Camelot to fight under. They make a mockery of the glory that Arthur once brought to this realm. They wear the white and leave us the black, and make sure that people think it is we who cause the atrocities."

He closed his eyes, suddenly tight with earnest sorrow. "Forgive me, I should not speak so. You have come to aid us, the first of your house to do so. After so long in exile, that is something that should warrant praise, not the haranguing of an embittered warrior."

Embittered warrior? Appius Malfoy could not be much older than Salazar's twenty-three years. When he said this, Malfoy flickered a smile, "I have been fighting since the death of my father, when I was twelve. I have been leading my house since that fateful day, and have seen first-hand some of the worst atrocities ever perpetrated on our kind. But come, we must head to safety."

He placed his hand on Slytherin's shoulder, and with a loud crack – and a moment of dragging queasiness – both wizards vanished, appearing in a small, dimly-lit cave. Malfoy immediately raised his wand and set a glowing, strong anti-Apparation field into place. And then nodded, "Here we will wait, until we hear from Black."

"Where are we?"

Appius shrugged, "Just a cave."

Salazar nodded, and then took a seat, leaning against the cold stone wall of the cave. "Are you quite... well, by the way?"

"What do you mean?"

"Many of your friends have just died."

The blond wizard sighed, looking away, "One thing you must know Salazar, before wishing to fight on these shores. Nobody ever survives. People die every day. It is a wonder Black and I have both survived for so long, but both he and I know that there will come a time when he will die, or I will die. Neither of us can afford to be crippled by sadness. We will have time to grieve when the dark wizards are driven out of Britain." He frowned, adding sadly, "If they ever are."

Salazar was shaken. In such a short time, Malfoy had shown just how bleak things were, here. "How many people are fighting the dark lords?"

"Not enough, nowhere near enough. The Night of Exile saw to that. So many dead, so many of our most ancient houses. If it were not for the Hufflepuffs, we would all have fallen. All of us who had fought for Arthur were targets. We all owe a lot to the Hufflepuffs. She came to us all that night. Although we were all split with rivalry over the throne, she came to the houses of her enemies to warn them, because she knew that whatever enmity there was, it was nothing compared to the darkness that would come if the dark lords eliminated all their opponents."

Salazar remembered that night. Hrodwen Hufflepuff had arrived at their home and had almost been killed by his father and uncle. They thought she was making an attack on them finally, to cement her own claim to the throne. But a few words from her had been enough, and the whole of the house of Slytherin had fled. Servants, allies, children, all.

"Yes, we all owe her a lot." He paused, "How is Lady Hufflepuff?"

Malfoy sighed, "She fell, just three months ago. Her daughter, however, she is even more of a witch than her mother was. A single movement of her wand can bring great wonders. She might even give _you_ a run for your money, and from what I have seen you live and breathe magic."

He shrugged, "Just practice." He smiled, "Although I would most like to meet the new Hufflepuff."

"You will wait for some time, then. She has three children to look after, and about twelve nieces and nephews, as well as the many children of the Hufflepuff retainers and servants. She truly is the mother of us all, and she's only our age!"

Salazar blinked, "She risked children in these times, then?"

The blond wizard nodded, "She gives us hope, Salazar. As she says, why should we not be happy, and joyful, and have families, just because we are ruled by tyrants? Of all the rebelling wizards, she is most untouched. And not because she has not seen pain – she has seen a lot of it – but because she feels that we need to have a better world to aim for afterwards, not just to kill the dark ones."

"You seem quite taken with her, Appius," he smirked, "is there something between you both?"

Appius chuckled, "I thought there may have been once, when we were both sixteen. But she wed another, and no we are just friends."

Salazar nodded, "I see." He looked around the small cave, essentially an empty place with a few empty boxes. "How long do we wait here?"

The other wizard sighed, "Until we are told it is safe. We could have been tracked; there could be any number of problems. After any clash, those involved go to ground for some time until all is well. The cause is then taken up by other people. We fight in rotation, essentially."

"Does that not just reduce your numbers?"

A nod, the eyes dark, "Unfortunately yes, but in the early days we fought as one, and we died far more. Now, we may be essentially powerless, but at least we live in freedom."

Salazar gave the dark, dank, damp and cold cave a single further cursory look. From what he could see, there was very little about this current situation that could be said to be freedom. But this is what he had returned to the isles for. To fight, and bring back the glory of the old days of Camelot.

With a sigh, drawing his cloak tighter about himself, he wondered whether such glory was lost forever, if those who would fight for it were forced to hide away in caves. Were they just delaying the inevitable? He had only been on the shores of his homeland for a few hours, and already he was feeling defeated.

He gave a short, sharp shudder.

* * *

The young, golden-haired wizard looked out from his tower, his thoughts deeply troubled. Yesterday, two young wizards had been killed by the Knights of Camelot. They had dared to refuse entry into their home, and had dared to protect their family against torture. His brow furrowed more deeply, as he studied the heads of the two that still adorned the gates to the Gryffindor keep.

"Do not let it get to you, Godric," his father intoned deeply as he stepped onto the balcony. A proud, older version of his son, Gordon Gryffindor was still in the prime of his life. Bulky, strong and with noble bearing, he wore the golden seal of Arthur at his shoulder. Once one of Arthur's greatest knights, he never went anywhere without the sign of that old rank. "We must endure, preserve what we can. And in the future, when there is an opportunity, we can move to take what is rightfully ours."

"But meanwhile, we let our people suffer under these false pretenders to Camelot's name?"

His father sighed, "Whatever Lord Striklan demands, we must accede to."

"_Dark_ Lord Striklan, father. Let's not pretend otherwise, now."

An angry frown, "Just... hold your tongue, Godric. We can't afford to draw attention to ourselves."

Godric growled, "But _why_, father? Our people, they suffer, they pain, they fear, and all the while we watch and accept, and _help_. You yourself stood there and acceded to the _just_ and _noble_ judgement of _Camelot._ That place doesn't even exist anymore, it's a mockery. It's a way for the dark lords to keep the islands under control. Because foo-"

"Don't. Don't finish that sentence, Godric. I do what I must, to protect this house. Do you actually think it wouldn't be worse if we rebelled? All of our people would be slaughtered, and our house crushed to the ground. You know what happened to the Ravenclaws, to the Larkspurs, to the Greenglaives, the Goldenhopes, the Hartberries, and countless, countless others. Gone! Destroyed! _Obliterated!"_ His father's face was red, with futile anger. The anger that comes from seeing countless allies and friends murdered. "I do what I must, can't you see that?"

With a nod, Godric sighed, "I can yes, but it doesn't mean I have to like it."

His father shook his head, "Someday, Godric, this will change. But until then, we must be models of loyalty to the Council of Lords. And if it means a few peasants of ours die, then so be it."

Before Godric could retort, his father stormed from the balcony, leaving his son alone with his thoughts. Godric frowned. His father had changed over the years. When his friends and allies had been crushed, that night years ago, something in him had died. He no longer sought to defend his realms, only the life and prosperity of his house. When he argued, Godric understood his reasons. But with every argument, those reasons were becoming more and more stale. And his father was becoming less and less vehement about the terrible things asked of him.

Godric shook his head, and banished such thoughts from his mind. His father was a good man. He was a hero, a man who had fought with Arthur. He had been taught by Merlin. He would never accept such evil if he had a choice.

In the courtyard below, one of Striklan's wizards, wearing the white of Camelot, gave him a mocking bow. His hands gripping tightly to the balcony rail, Godric Gryffindor bowed low to the dark wizard, before leaving the balcony before his anger erupted.

He was sure he heard the wizard laugh coldly.


End file.
